No being is an island. - Saint Johanne of the Dawn, Pre-Glassing Terra, as translated for xenospecies

Former Great Grand Most High now Lieutenant General of the Iron A'armo'o climbed out the tank, stopping for a moment to lean against the warsteel hull. It was discolored, dented, cratered, and warped here and there. The massive fission engines, the heart of the great beast, somehow made the massive thousand tonne bulk vibrate even as the steam turbines and the heavy engines rumbled.

The turbines and the engines wound down, then the vibration of the fission plants dulled and then stilled.

His crew clopped out of the belly of the great beast. He could tell they were exhausted from the last ten hours of combat to push the last of the Atrekna autonomous war machines off the planet and fully liberate the system.

He closed his eyes, shuddering. "Get something to eat, get some rest," he ordered.

"Yes, sir," his driver, a Telkan with a cybernetic nose, said softly. He paused. "You too, sir."

"I will, Sergeant," A'armo'o said, not opening his eyes.

He'd gone into the fight with a thousand heavy tanks.

He was coming back with nine hundred twenty-two.

Before he had deserted the Unified Military Council and joined the Confederacy of Aligned Systems Military Services, he would have considered that excellent numbers. He had destroyed gigatonnes of enemy vehicles and ships, destroyed two Djinn class AAWM vessels.

All for the loss of seventy-eight tanks.

That alone represented almost a thousand casualties if you counted the green mantid engineers.

And A'armo'o counted them.

--have him now-- 882 said, the message appearing on A'armo'o's retinal link. --we right above you--

A'armo'o opened his eyes and looked up.

Three green mantids were just outside a maintenance access hatch right above his head.

They were holding what was left of a fourth.

A'armo'o held up his upper hands and the three green mantids put the dead fourth in his hands.

"Let's take him to Graves Registration," A'armo'o said. He looked down at the body in his hands. The thorax was crushed, the armor having failed when the cannon shot had hit the side of the tank and flexed the interior space.

The others nodded, jumping from the tank to A'armo'o's armored back.

I feel each death more keenly than I did when I was in charge of tens of thousands of tanks, he thought to himself. Is it because I know them better now?

He did not know and he mulled over the question in his own mind as he moved to where Graves Registration was stacking the recovered remains.

It took less than ten minutes to turn 339's body over to Graves Registration. He then walked over the chow hall, giving the surviving three mechanics 'a ride' to the building.

Part of him was amused by the fact that he had three subordinates riding on his back like he was a common beast of burden, something that would have infuriated him to even suggest as little as three years ago.

It's been a weird war, he thought to himself as he headed for the command center. He pulled off his helmet and mask, breathing deep. He knew the air was probably contaminated, but really couldn't bring himself to care beyond knowing his tracheal and bloodstream filters would handle it all.

"Sir," a familiar voice called out.

General A'armo'o turned and saw a familiar Lanaktallan heading for him.

General Ge'ermo'o, who had served the last several years as the liaison between the Atomic Hooves and General NoDra'ak.

"Loyal one," A'armo'o said, nodding.

"General NoDra'ak wants to see you, sir," Ge'ermo'o said. He pointed at the command center. "He says it's private and he's set up a secure room to meet with you."

"Do you know what it's about?" A'armo'o asked. He paused to do something he would have never considered before the war started.

He lit a Treana'ad smokestick.

"No, sir," Ge'ermo'o said. "Something must have come over the needlecast hypercom," the other Lanaktallan looked up. "The ansible is down but being repaired. Right now Sixteenth Fleet is providing hypercom access."

"Beats nothing," A'armo'o said. He yawned, took a last drag off the smoke, and tossed it into the can full of sand and water right by the door.

The interior of the building was neat and clean, the floors and walls polished, the stencils crisp and clear. A'armo'o followed Ge'ermo'o through the hallways until the elevator, then down two levels.

A'armo'o mused that the building was in pretty good shape for having been built only three months ago and having been hammered into rubble twice.

The elevator dinged and Ge'ermo'o led A'armo'o down the hallway to a doorway where two MP's were standing. A'armo'o knew that he'd already been ID'd, but he still waited for the hand-scanner to be run over his face and side.

"General's inside, Generals," one of the MP's said as the other one triggered the door open. Privacy electronics were kicked in, making the room beyond a blur.

"Thank you," A'armo'o said, moving through the privacy/security field and into the secure room.

The entire far wall was covered with computer equipment that had multiple species working at stations. On the right was more computer equipment, on the left were 2.5D screens. There were several Lanaktallan "wraparound" stations. A holotank stood in the middle with the Confederate Military Auxiliary Radio System logo floating in the middle.

General of the Warsteel NoDra'ak, 7th Army, Commanding, stood on the other side of the tank.

"General A'armo'o," the big Treana'ad said.

"General NoDra'ak," A'armo'o said.

Before he could say anything more General NoDra'ak turned around. "Give us the room," he jabbed a bladearm at Ge'ermo'o. "You can stay. Everyone else, out."

A'armo'o raised an eye tuft (something he'd practiced for weeks) at that.

The room cleared.

"Out of respect for your rank and the time we've fought together, I feel the need to inform you that I have already reviewed the contents of this message as well as military intelligence analysts," General NoDra'ak said. "Just touch the See-Mars icon to start the message."

The big Treana'ad officer moved to the door, pausing for a moment.

"I'll be outside."

The door thudded shut behind him.

A'armo'o looked at his former aide, Ge'ermo'o and tilted his head. "Do you know this is about?" he asked.

Ge'ermo'o shook his head. "No."

A'armo'o waved his hands in the equivalent of a shrug and moved forward, tapping the icon.

His eyes opened wide when the image cleared into that of a Lanaktallan matron sitting in a comfort sling. The matron was dressed in high fashion, with a sash that rippled and shone. Beside her was a Shavashan dressed as a butler.

Both the matron and the Shavashan butler were wearing gunbelts at their waists with heavy Confederate magac pistols.

General A'armo'o, commander of the Atomic Hooves, stared at the image.

"Mother," A'armo'o blinked, as if the Lanaktallan matron could hear him.

The recording kept playing.

"Dear A'armo'o, my son," the matron said. "I hope this reaches you and finds you well," the matron said. She sighed. "It falls upon me to tell you that our ancestral homeworld is lost," she said. "I was able, with the help of some darling lemurs, to evacuate the majority of the population, but, in the end, I was forced to take horrible steps to ensure that the Atrekna and their servants could not wreak horrible deeds upon any survivors."

The matron shook her head. "Are-ee, I was forced to planet-crack our ancestral home in the end."

A'armo'o just stared in horror.

The matron hung her head. "I lost Naktrix, dear one. He stayed behind to ensure I could escape," the matron grabbed the Shavashan's hand. "Shakras ensured I was loaded onto a transport."

The Shavashan reached out and rubbed the matron's back.

"I lost our home, but I left them nothing but ash and blood," the matron said. She looked up. "I hope you are doing better than I am, my beloved son."

She shook her head. "I just wanted to let you know that I have survived. That Shakras and I both live," she gave a long sigh again. "I arrived at the Unified Civilizations Senate world this morning. My sister is still in residence and Shakras and I shall be accepting her offer of comfort and hospitality."

She looked up again and A'armo'o noted how exhausted she looked.

"I'm alive. As if Shakras," she closed her eyes. "I have informed Naktrix's people, the Telkans, that he was lost in battle," she shuddered. "He comported himself with honor above what our house could have asked, Aree," she looked up. "Mother loves you, Aree. Please, do your best to stay safe. I will be at Aunt De'erya'ahd's estate."

A'armo'o stared at the holotank as the message ended, the holotank went empty for a few heartbeats, the the C-MARS logo appeared again.

"Are you all right, sir?" Ge'ermo'o asked.

A'armo'o closed his eyes, feeling fatigue wash over him again, even heavier than when he had been leaning against the side of his tank.

"Yes," A'armo'o said. He shuddered and looked up. "Give me a few moments. I wish to compose a message to my mother," he said.

"Of course, General," Ge'ermo'o said. "Remember, sir, that General NoDra'ak, military intelligence, and CID will all look over your message."

A'armo'o nodded. "I know. I helped write and approved that SOP."

"By your leave, sir," Ge'ermo'o said. He kept his face blank as he left. When he reached the hallway, he used his datalink to order that the General be prepared a room to rest in and a meal to eat.

He could tell that the General would be both physically and emotionally exhausted.

After all, he was a most attentive and observant Lanaktallan.

-----

Dreams of Something More, Confederate plenipotentiary to the former Unified Council Systems, adjusted her beret, fussed with the dishes on top of dark crimson cloth on top of the flat rock, then looked up.

"Show her in," Dreams said.

The Lanaktallan matron that slowly moved in, pausing to look around at the temperate rain forest recreation, looked exhausted in a way that Dreams had seen too often the last few years.

"Lady Fa'ahmya'ahd," Dreams said. "Please, please, sit. I assure you, despite its appearance, it is quite comfortable."

The matron nodded, moving up to the flat rock with a light blue cloth draped over it. When she straddled it and sat down she gave a slight laugh at the way it adjusted underneath her and she felt a comfortable back rest move into position.

"Quite ingenious," Lady Fa'ahmya'ahd said.

Dreams preened for a moment. "I am high enough ranking to be allowed certain idiosyncrasies," the gold mantid waved at her surroudings. "This recreation is one," Dreams motioned at the food and drink. "Please, enjoy."

Lady Fa'ahmya'ahd gave a wan approximation of a smile.

Dreams waited until the matron had finished a half a glass of wine and had selected a few bites of the Animeland cuisine before signifying that she wanted to bring up important subjects. When Lady Fa'ahmya'ahd nodded Dreams signified pleasure, flashing a few emojis between her antenna.

"You will be satisfied to know that the resettlement of the beings you managed to save from that system is proceeding apace," Dreams said. "Confederate Resettlement Services is ensuring that families stay together, that each family unit is sent to a world of their choosing or a world that closely approximates the most comfortable for their species."

Lady Fa'ahmya'ahd nodded.

"You did far more than most would have," Dreams said.

Again, the Lanaktallan matron just nodded.

Dreams waited. "Now you are trying to live with it."

It was a statement, not a question.

Lady Fa'ahmya'ahd nodded again.

Dreams signified a lack of confident knowledge with a simple Terran shrug and a couple of emojis.

"That's the question everyone in your position asks," Dreams said. Dreams motioned. "You are here, ensuring that someone speaks for every being you rescued, that someone knows what those beings who are not here did in your name to save those beings you rescued, and to ensure that your people, now refugees, are not taken advantage of or left to rot in some refugee camp."

Lady Fa'ahmya'ahd nodded, sipping at the wine.

"I'm sure you saw just how many resettlement camps, how many worlds full of transients, there are at this time," Dreams said.

"Yes. Nearly two hundred worlds full of refugees," Lady Fa'ahmya'ahd said.

Dreams nodded. "Operation Iron Piglet hit over ten thousand worlds, trying to wrest them from the Atrekna. Over three quarters of those worlds had populations measuring in the billions. Even on worlds where the entire population did not have to be evacuated, even on worlds where Atrekna time dilation had not wiped out the population, there are still millions of refugees."

Dreams sipped at a water droplet, flashing icons for a moment of patience.

"It is the largest refugee undertaking the Confederacy has undertaken in nearly a century," Dreams said.

Lady Fa'ahmya'ahd frowned. "Only a century? But there are tens of billions of refugees."

Dreams nodded. "Eight hundred billion refugees from over six thousand worlds that still had any sentient life on them," the gold mantid said. She shook her head. "Not as bad as almost a century ago, but still bad."

Lady Fa'ahmya'ahd tilted her head slightrly, her feeding tentacles curling. "Surely you jest. The Confederacy has faced something worse?"

Dreams nodded slowly. "Indeed, we have," she nibbled on some sushi then glanced up to where Mister Rings was swinging through the branches.

"The Clownface Nebula War displaced three point nine trillion living beings," she said softly. "Worse, atrocities during the war led to refugee camps and worlds being attacked by military forces with the sole intent of wiping out those refugees. At the end of the war, less than one point two five trillion refugees remained," Dreams stabbed another piece of sushi with her bladearm and nibbled on it. "Part of the problem was that too many were focused on the war and the refugees had nobody to speak for them. It was a massive failure of the Confederate Government."

Lady Fa'ahmya'ahd blinked several times.

Dreams motioned with her bladearms at the surrounding temperate rain forest. "Luckily, at this time, the refugees," she pointed at Lady Fa'ahmya'ahd. "all have you to speak for them."

Lady Fa'ahmya'ahd lifted her chin. "I understand."

"My office will ensure that you have what you need," Dreams said. She tapped a leaf, bringing up an icon, then tapped the icon twice. "First of all, let us get you a support staff and assign one of the abandoned office sections to you."

Dreams noticed that the Lanaktallan matron went from having a faint air of defeat around her to intent industriousness as Dreams went through helping the matron set up her 'office.'

Dreams was just glad that Lady Fa'ahmya'ahd had arrived. The refugee count was mounting and rumor had it that the followup operation to Iron Piglet was beginning to be staged, which meant even more refugees.

-----

TELKAN FORGE WORLDS

Don't you think it's a bit premature to be making plans and performing actions that should be done at the end of the war?

---NOTHING FOLLOWS---

TREANA'AD HIVE WORLDS

If we wait, it'll be nothing but a complete cluster hump.

You start now, before the end of the war, and adapt the plans as the war continues.

Let me guess, refugee resettlement?

---NOTHING FOLLOWS---

AKLTAK SOARING WORLDS

Yes.

What if the worlds they are being moved to are attacked?

---NOTHING FOLLOWS---

HAT WEARING AUNTIE

What if the worlds where the refugees are largely being housed are hit?

That's billions of sitting ducks, to use a phrase.

---NOTHING FOLLOWS---

TELKAN FORGE WORLDS

I hadn't thought of that.

---NOTHING FOLLOWS---

TREANA'AD HIVE WORLDS

Don't worry, kid.

We learned our lessons the hard way.

---NOTHING FOLLOWS---